Chapter Ten #2
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lainey approach us, standing a few feet away with her hands folded primly in front of her.
She clears her throat with a tiny sound that makes Philippa’s hands shake as she bites off yet another maraschino cherry.
Beside her, Chloe averts her eyes, like if she doesn’t look at Lainey, she can’t possibly exist.
“Ladies, how are we?” Lainey asks.
I take a sip of my drink to buy myself time. Philippa feigns a smile and swallows her cherry. “I’m great,” she says. “This diet of only alcohol and bar snacks is really doing wonders for me.”
I cough and splutter, liquid dribbling down my chin. Turning away, I take the square napkin that Kevin wordlessly offers me from behind the bar.
I can’t believe Philippa would be so brazen.
It’s one thing to quietly complain about the conditions, but to say it to Lainey’s face is as good as begging to be sent home.
In the real world, I’d want to be friends with Philippa, but here, her energy is a little too just-here-for-the-free-vacation for my comfort.
Lainey’s smile gets, if possible, wider, something evil glinting in her eyes. “I’m so glad to hear it. You know we only want you girls to be looking your best.”
Philippa, refusing to cower, stands up straighter, running a hand over her long box braids.
Lainey turns to Chloe next, her eyes wandering from the plunging neckline of Chloe’s dress to the cutouts at her waist.
“Maybe a more modest dress next time, dear? It’s a little too much exposed skin. Especially when you’re so pale.”
Chloe’s red lips fall open as her chin begins to tremble. I want to reach out, pull Chloe into a hug, and then stab Lainey in the face with the heel of my shoe. But Philippa acts first. She sets her empty glass down on the bar and faces Lainey.
“You asshole,” she says calmly.
Chloe grabs her arm and whispers, “Phil, don’t.”
“Yes, Phil, don’t,” Lainey parrots.
“All we’ve had to eat today was salad, yogurt, and, hmm, what was the last thing?” Philippa looks up to the ceiling like she’s trying to remember. “Oh right. Alcohol. Seem healthy to you? I thought you wanted live women to date Roland, but if he’s into necrophilia, who am I to judge?”
Lainey smooths down the front of her shirt and purses her lips. “We will be providing dinner after the ceremony tonight,” she says. “Now stop wasting my time. Georgia? Can we have a little chat?”
From the grimace on Philippa and Chloe’s faces, you’d think I was being led to my execution. I leave my glass at the bar, knowing I need my wits about me as I enter the wolves’ den.
In a hot and stuffy room off the hallway, I sit down on an uncomfortable wooden stool for my first moments alone with Lainey. No other producers. Just us.
My pulse is racing as Lainey perches herself on the edge of a huge armchair, smiling warmly at me.
I square my shoulders. I need to know if there’s any truth to the rumors, the macabre accusations of hours in a room with Lainey, only let out when she gets what she wants.
She leans forward and turns on the camera in front of me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll have you back to the party soon. Just a quick interview.” She settles back in her chair. “So, Georgia, how are you doing?”
Okay, easy start. Trying to loosen me up.
“I’m great,” I say. “I’m really excited to talk to Roland tonight.”
“Can you tell me about your first kisses with him?”
I take a deep breath and widen my eyes. As Serena said, Wide eyes mean love.
“They were amazing,” I gush, but Lainey cuts me off.
“Set the stage, Georgia,” she says. “Don’t say ‘they’—tell me what you’re talking about.”
“Right, sorry.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
“No problem. Whenever you’re ready,” she says, smiling. Her expression is maternal and almost … kind. But kind doesn’t seem to be in Lainey’s normal wheelhouse. This must be how she lulls contestants into a false sense of security.
I meet the camera’s gaze. “The kisses were magical. It felt like everything was meant to be.” I pause, take a dreamy breath, then continue. “I can really see a future with him—he’s everything I want in a partner. He’s kind, compassionate, talented, smart, and, well … he’s a really good kisser too.”
Though not as good as Rhett. The thought sends my nails digging into my palms, and Lainey’s eyes flick to the movement. She misses nothing.
“And your own family—can you tell me about them? How has your parents’ divorce affected your approach to relationships?”
It’s like a bass drop. This is what she wanted all along.
I stare down at my hands, trying to prepare myself for an emotional moment.
“I think watching my parents go through that has made me more wary of relationships,” I say honestly. “They split up when I was twelve, but things were rocky for a long time before that and they kept holding on—maybe for me, I’m not sure. I don’t want to end up like that.”
Anxiety pools in my gut. The truth would be too much for the cameras—that I’m so terrified of winding up like my parents that I’ve needed to become fiercely independent, so unwilling to trust anyone else with my heart that if I made it to the end and married Roland, he’d be my longest romantic relationship to date.
So instead, I pivot my anxiety into something the cameras can understand: sadness.
I sniffle and wipe my eyes. “It was just … really hard.” Lainey leans forward, watching me intently.
“I knew things weren’t great between them, but when my dad finally moved out, it felt like he was giving up on their relationship—on me.
” My voice catches with the brutal honesty of it.
I almost don’t say the next words—it’s not fair to my dad or, frankly, to me.
But I have to. “He didn’t even tell me where he was going. ”
I found out where my dad was going, of course. But the initial hurt of waking up to find boxes in the hall instead of his shoes didn’t subside easily.
I’ve never told anyone how I felt as I watched my dad packing up his things, how suddenly, his life seemed so small, so lonely, if it could be stuffed into the back seat of a sedan. I didn’t tell my mom, because her emotions were already big enough for the both of us. I never even told Serena.
So why the fuck am I telling Lainey? A tear squeezes out of my eye, and I let it roll down my cheek, then take a few seconds to pull myself together.
“But I know now that it was for the best. I got to rebuild my relationships with both of them and I feel really lucky to have two loving parents. That’s more than a lot of people have. ”
Lainey sniffs, looking a little disappointed. Maybe she wanted me to completely lose it on camera. “And how do you think your parents would react to you getting engaged?”
“I know they’ll support me unconditionally when I fall in love.” This, at least, I know is true.
Immediately, she snaps up the bait. “So you’re falling in love with Roland?”
I almost balk at her. Love? It’s been seven days. But I know some of the other women have already said it. Deprive the contestants of everything except the lead, and they can’t help but pine over him. If he’s all you see, you’re sure to fall in love.
“It must be hard to be away from your family and friends,” Lainey says without waiting for me to answer her previous question.
“It’s only been a week.” And it’s harder being away from Presley than from anyone else I left behind.
“If you make it to Family Week, you’ll get to see them,” she says.
The idea of involving my parents in this charade is the last thing I want to do.
Lainey leans forward. “I’m sure there’s so much you want to tell them.”
I frown—what’s she getting at?
“Have you had any contact with anyone outside the house?” she asks delicately. My eyes widen. How could she possibly—
“No, of course not,” I say quickly. “I don’t even know how I’d manage that.” A prepaid phone plan. A burner.
“Okay,” she says, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She bends down and picks up a magazine. The bright logo at the top startles me—Us Weekly. Flipping to a page in the middle, she shows me a page of text under a bold headline: RHETT AUBURN IS BACK IN THE SHACK.
My heart hammers as I scan the page:
Sources have confirmed that Love Shack season 18 lead Rhett Auburn has returned to the mansion to host season 20 and help tennis pro Roland Marchetti find love.
Just last year, the singer’s own Love Shack romance with Cassidy Foley ended in heartbreak.
Other details on season 20 remain a mystery, including the lineup of women vying for Marchetti’s heart.
“I—I didn’t,” I stammer. “I don’t know anything about that.” There are any number of people who could have leaked this information—I didn’t even know it was supposed to be a secret. Serena knows how important this is—she wouldn’t have told a soul.
I may not be responsible for this breach, but when I get out of here, I’ll make sure Love Shack is in the headlines again.
Though with the expression on Lainey’s face, I might not make it out to write anything at all.
Maybe she has a lethal syringe hidden in her bra.
Or maybe she’s hoping the lack of sleep and sustenance will finish me off naturally.
Either way, she’s terrified me to my core.
She raises an eyebrow at me and I shake my head.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
Pursing her lips, she sets the magazine down. “I didn’t think so,” she says. “But we have to ask. Especially with you being a journalist, you know.”
“Music,” I correct her. “Music journalist.”
“I know,” she says dismissively. “I read some of your little reviews. I would have thought you’d want to prove yourself a bit more, write about something more substantial. You can’t make a real career off of other people’s work.”
My blood boils at her remark—who is she to insult my work when she’s made a career preying on people’s insecurities?—but I fix a smile on my face.
Lainey Williams may not be used to making mistakes, but her biggest one is sitting right in front of her.